Life After Love
by Nals
Summary: When all has been said and done and fixed, what happens next? A few seasons have passed, and Miguel is ready to take it to the next level. And when all things follow, how can the couple cope? MCxOC
1. Chapter 1

_Alright this is just something for me to do. Not required for reading unless you want to, or you want to follow the Stevenson saga, or for whatever reason. xD And if you want a broader view on these two, I suggest reading To Chance Upon a Spanish Pearl first. ^-^_

_MereMcQueen314, this is for you, honey~_

_And so I probably kept that part above because I can~ Anyway, I'd like to put this up as an official part of the timeline; because I can, because I want to~ xD_

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**_Life After Love_**

Sometimes, it wasn't about how she looked like. Sometimes, it wasn't about her boobs, or her hips, or her legs, or her face. Sometimes, it was how much she knew that sided by her looks. Sometimes, it was how much she loved him back. And this woman was one of them.

She had insanely beautiful dark brown hair, and let loose it was medium-long, waves of dark chocolate flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were of the same color, and can either show the deepest love or the greatest hate. He'd seen both emotions coursing through her many times: not only in the times with her family or when arguing with a silly flirt, but when they fought at times or slept together in the most literal sense of the phrase. She wasn't your definition of sexy, really, but she wasn't overweight or even too close to it. Her hands were strong yet gentle, rough but soft. She was sweet, compassionate, loving, and inevitably, with temper problems. She could find more enjoyment in tinkering with the four cars in the garage than in going on Facebook and chatting with old friends or with family or playing the games there. Her favorite toy is her 458 Italia. Her favorite color changes with her mood. She was more technical, mechanical, scientific and logical than creative, although she liked to display stories. She was left-handed. She was terrified of spiders, screaming even if it is smaller than her tiniest toe. Her name meant something rare and beautiful. she had no second name. Her father had passed on; her mother was nowhere to be found. She was Catholic, but wasn't exactly religious, although she had enough respect for the religion itself. She had never had her ears pierced, something he found odd but amazing about her.

There wasn't a word to describe her exactly, because she had so much to offer him: life, love, and repairs on his racing car. He had been so bent on being a bachelor after meeting so many ladies in the whole of Spain and in other countries that he hadn't realized she would be the only one that can charm him. And all it took to do so was his description from the internet.

This was the definition he had of the world's one and only Margarita Kallide-Stevenson; nothing and no one else comes close. And as she smiled at him now, her sleeves rolled up as usual, hair tied back, her long side bangs over her eyes, grease staining her hands and wrists and wrench on hand, the weight in his pocket and the swelling in his chest never felt more prominent.

He strode over from the garage door to kiss her hair softly, arm around her waist. "Still working on that pesky engine of mine?" he said, smiling.

She laughed once. "Yeah," she replied, glancing at the racing engine in front of her, her smile fading into a pout. "Pesky is right." She bent down to tighten a loose screw. "I think I'll finish it tomorrow; you said we'll be having dinner tonight."

"Si." It was the only way to get her alone. It may seem cliché, but it was still considered a staple plan among males.

She nodded, and went to get a rag to clean off some of the stains in her wrenches. After shoving the metal toys back into the toolbox she shut the hood gently, knowing he was sort of easily startled. She didn't bother to put back the toolbox because she would need it tomorrow or later, if she had time. After cleaning her hands of the oil in the sink nearby, they re-entered the house, closing the sliding garage door.

He was the first to go into the bath because she would probably need scrubbing, because most of the stains stuck to her. As he looked into his closet for something to wear, he specially saved a shirt for this kind of occasion: a deep red button-up with long sleeves, rolled up as she liked it so much, with black pants and the same-color dress shoes. Although he never minded her wearing jeans or pants to special occasions like a party or such, tonight she would wear something for him, too, and he slipped into her closet for something she wore unusually, and laid it out for her to just slip on: the golden dress with the flowing skirt that fell just under her knees and spaghetti straps, the one she bought for herself on one of the shopping trips with her cousin and friends. He liked it so much on her he decided it would be appropriate for tonight. But he knew she would never approve of the straps, and chose a shrug, more commonly known to her as a _bolero_, which was three-fourth-sleeved, knit, and its hem fell just before the end of her ribcage. It was deep red, like his, and had a button just in case she wanted it to be closed. The choice of shoes would be another matter and one for her to tackle instead; he didn't care if she wore flats or heels, just not closed or covered shoes. Finally, on a piece of paper he wrote, "Wear your hair down tonight." He then waited for her outside, and turned on the television.

"Are you sure about this, Miguel?" he heard her voice echo down the stairs.

"Yes, I'm sure," her replied aloud, and the tap-tapping of heels onto wood made him turn the TV off, stand, and turn to see her.

She was even better than he pictured her.

She wore a classic chain of white pearls around her neck to fill in the spaces, her left wrist lacking its silver watch but her left middle finger still had its titanium ring. Her shoes were black, not-so-strappy, and contained 2.5-inch heels. A small black clutch bag was in her hand. She wasn't exactly dolled up as you might say; she never adhered to make-up or wore it. Instead of anything too intricate, all she had on was a basic layer of eyeshadow, blush and lipstick of a slightly redder shade than her lips, but she had evidence of concealer on. Her hair was immaculate: fluffed-out brown waves that fell over her shoulders in a way he'd never seen before; it looked so natural yet felt so artificial. His lips fell open in awe as his eyes traveled up and down her figure, and he didn't notice she was standing like she was embarrassed until later.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked as he walked up to her.

"…I just don't like wearing dresses," she said. "You know I don't like it."

He took her hands in his. "Just for tonight," he pleaded softly. He stared deeply into her big, brown eyes pleadingly, and she nodded after a few moments.

"Just for tonight," she said firmly, and he smiled.

"Come on; we'll be late for the reservation." He led her outside to the garage, opening the sliding door once more.

The sun had set along the horizon already, leaving pale yellow to mix with the incoming dark blue. Not that he didn't like it; he just knew she liked watching the sun set like her cousin and seeing the scarlet disc slowly go down like magic.

Her eyes bulged. "How long have you been planning this?" she asked him as she got into his chosen ride: his Maserati GranCabrio.

"Oh, just last week," he said casually as he got into the driver's seat. "I just thought of it, really, and decided it would be…fitting…to do so."

"Oka-ay," she said, a little uneasy.

He drove out of the garage and onto the open road. He glanced sideways many times at her as she stared out the tinted windows of his beloved Maserati, her legs unusually together, her hands tight on the purse on her lap. He glanced out the windows past her and the dashboard to see people staring at the only golden Maserati with the plate number 1652 SMRC. This didn't bother Miguel at all, but it probably bugged Margo more than usual tonight, because she was tenser than ever. Usually she would just talk with him, discussing matters and gossip freely, not caring if anyone saw them in her 458 or in the GranTurismo, but tonight she was stone silent. Although the silence in the cabin was odd, it didn't bother Miguel too much, although it was odd that she would keep the silence. He figured it was because she was in a dress, and shrugged it off.

They turned into the driveway at the front of the hotel he had made a reservation at, and they got out for the valet to park the car elsewhere. He led her inside, and were unfortunately ambushed by reporters who were supposed to report on the dinner of the Philippine Embassy's meeting with the Minister, and were unfortunately caught by the cameras. At least all these were just reporters and not the paparazzi, but they were caught all the same, and the cameras shot their way as an attendant led them to their designated table, located somewhere secluded but visible to waiters and waitresses, as well as close enough to the buffet tables located at the center.

The music in the restaurant wasn't your normal piano instrumental, but was instead a live performance, playing sweet songs and popular ones, too, by male and female singers alike. Perfect.

Dinner passed blissfully but quietly; Margo was uneasy all throughout the meal, and only because she was having her first formal dinner with Miguel. She knew she had no reason to be afraid, because Miguel would accept and has accepted anything and everything about her, but it still was disconcerting to go on such a date like this, especially with other people staring at them.

Miguel, on the other hand, was trying to liven up the evening with discussion on matters aside from work (or politics), and asked more on her opinion to get her as comfortable as possible. But it just didn't happen; she was still as restless and stiff as ever, right up until he caught her eyeing the dessert table right before he finished his meal. He chuckled slightly, and she turned her head towards him. He knew she would weaken at the dessert table.

As they ate dessert, a favorite song of Margo's started playing. It told of a man asking the girl-in-question's father for the girl's hand in marriage.

"I love this song," she said softly. "I used to dream about getting married," she continued mindlessly.

"'Used to'?" he repeated.

"Yup." She sighed, almost dreamily. "I wonder how I'll look under a veil."

He smiled, snickering.

"What?"

"I just remembered Marlene's wedding," he said, and she grinned, too.

Two years ago was her cousin's own wedding. She vividly remembered, and she grinned. She had never seen her cousin look so beautiful in a long, off-white gown with a veil over her eyes. She remembered the envy she felt, mixed with the happiness for there cousin. She also remembered how handsome Francesco looked in black and white, despite him usually being seen in his homeland's colors, his usually windblown chocolate brown hair then combed and set cleanly over his head. And Margo also remembered how hard her cousin blushed as Francesco's head and upper body disappeared under the light cream skirt, reappearing with a silken garter with a ribbon and of the same off-white color caught in his teeth, hands behind his back.

"Think that'll happen?" she asked him.

He just shrugged, smile fading, as he stared at his platter of sweets. "First things first," he said. "My season isn't over yet."

She just nodded, and as his eyes darted up from under his lashes, she looked like she was saddened. Not for long.

"Why don't you take off your ring?" he asked, frowning a little.

She was stunned. He never told her to take off her beloved ring. "Why?" she asked instantly.

"It…spoils the view," he said, smirking a little, and she rolled her eyes before she stuffed the three-banded, thin titanium ring into her bag.

"Any song requests?" the singer called over the sound system.

Miguel raised his hand, and as the singer called for the request, Miguel led Margo out to the makeshift dance floor. She protested, but he knew she would never refuse anything he would ask her, even if it were extreme, but he wouldn't make her do something as extreme as driving a knife to her skin or cheating.

Telling her to stay there, he whispered the details to the singer, had something put onto his clothing, and returned to the dance floor to his girlfriend. She found he had a bodypack microphone, its transmitter attached to his belt behind him, the microphone attached to the front of his shirt. The intro then played, and she laughed with glee.

He was going to sing, she thought.

But she thought wrong. "Margo," he started, and suddenly she was well aware of the eyes upon them. "When I met you, last year, I thought you were just another fangirl out to get me." His hands took hers, and his gaze never deviated from hers. "But upon meeting you, upon getting to know you more, my first impression faded.

"You do understand that I was happier when you finally came into my life," he said, and she nodded. "You gave me more that I deserved: life, love, and repairs to my racing engine." The crowd laughed lightly, and she rolled her eyes. "Do you remember what your friends told you?" She nodded, and he shook his head. "None of that is true. You're not what they say you are." He paused as he permit himself to cherish her eyes, the feeling he's seeing in them and the beauty it has provided him through the months, but then he had to continue.

"Do you know why I brought you here, why I made you wear that, why I called you to the center of attention, why I'm saying these things to you now, when I could have done it months ago?" She shook her head, a smiling yet bewildered look on her face. He grinned, then turned to the audience. "Do you know?" he asked over the sound system.

The all called dissent.

He turned to her again. "Before I start though, I want to tell you that I love you so much, that it has compelled me to do this." He paused for a moment, staring thoughtfully into space. "Er…this might be a little old-style," he added, and she shrugged an 'I-don't-care'.

He smiled at that, then glanced upwards, almost gesturing to the song. She listened as the second refrain faded to the final chorus, and his gaze caught hers. That's when he started singing.

"_Cuando me enamoro aveces desespero,_  
_Cuando me enamoro,_  
_Cuando menos me lo espero, me enamoro_  
_Se detiene el tiempo, me viene el alma al cuerpo,_  
_Sonrio, cuando me enamoro_."

As the final words of the chorus passed his lips, he reached for something in his pocket, and, holding her hand, lowered himself to one knee. Her other hand flew to her lips, and tars of joy streaked down her cheeks. And if that surprised her, the shock wasn't compared to the next startling event.

"Margarita Kallide-Stevenson," he started slowly, eyes reflecting hope, love and ecstasy, "_papakasalan mo ba ako_?"

At this, she smiled harder. She hadn't heard her homeland's language in years. "_Oo!_" she squeaked. "_Oo!_" she said louder, and he grinned, standing, and the people of the Philippine Embassy and reporters of _Pinoy_ news centers clapped in glee. The rest of the audience had no idea what the prestigious GT racer meant, but the ring and the grin said it all.

They were engaged.


	2. Chapter 2

_I was doing this for such a long time today that I almost got block. It was so hard to do a humanoid wedding. O.o_

_So, I edited a few things, but it doesn't affect the entire storyline~_

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_**Chapter Two**_

Today was the day they were waiting for. After about six months of planning, celebrating parties, and more, it was about time the date came.

It wasn't a very big event, unlike Marlene's, in which even the press came to witness Francesco's wedding. It was very private, actually, and was limited to friends and family.

"Oh, baby, you look gorgeous," Marlene whispered as everyone stared into the three-way mirror.

Although they were in glorious Spain, and that the true tradition called for an embroidered veil and a dress in black silk, the couple wanted a mix of traditions and cultures, thus the traditional white dress used in the Philippines, but she had retained the veil for good measure. Although it was changed for a modern-day wedding, the intricate lace edging resembled the traditional _mantilla_ veil used by the olden times.

"I promised myself I wouldn't wear a dress," Margo grumbled slightly. "But if it's worth it, then it's worth it." She shrugged.

"It is worth it, honey," her cousin reassured her, and the girl in question smiled, glancing outward to the twins that were staring at her in awe. She rolled her eyes.

Mia she could understand, because she wasn't married yet. But for Tia to squeal in delight, well, it was odd to do so, but Margo guessed Tia was happy for her all the same.

"You're so lucky!" Mia squeaked happily, only to cover her mouth with her hands. The cousins laughed. Both girls were known to be easily excited, despite their entrance to adulthood.

"Are we ready?" Francesco's voice boomed behind them. He raised a brow, glancing into the mirror as he sided by his wife. "You don't want to keep him waiting, do you?"

Marlene elbowed him gently. "What?" he protested. "I was kept waiting for about five minutes after the deadline," he continued, a smile on his face.

"That's because everyone was worried about my make-up then," Marlene replied, and kissed his cheek lightly. "We better go then; it's fifteen minutes to the chapel!"

"Ah, another wedding," the man beside him sighed.

"Can I help it if I decide to have so?" Miguel growled.

Rip shrugged beside him. "I just hope Carla and I can get together someday; I'm not getting any younger," he murmured.

Miguel pat his friend on the back. "I'm sure you'll get her soon."

Rip fidgeted uneasily. "But she expects me to-"

"All women expect us to, Rip," Miguel told him. "It's mandatory."

"But what of Margo?" the younger driver shot back. "She doesn't-"

"She didn't expect it in the first place," the man of the hour said flatly, irritation in his voice now. "I'm sure she would've done something, but she expects me to lead her though this 'relationship-thing', as she calls it, and she leads me when we're on the track. So it's more or less fine for me."

Rip still couldn't help but be uneasy. "You have friends, Rip. We'll help you through it."

The younger man nodded, breathing deeply. Miguel glanced at the watch in his pocket. As usual, they were late.

"Two years ago she was late," he grumbled. "Is it karma or something?"

"Maybe," Rip replied, his hands now behind him. "Come to think of it, you were always late at meetings before.*" Miguel only blushed as Rip snickered.

As usual, the men were dressed in a formal suit. To comply with the traditional and the modern times, the groom wore a traditional black suit: coat, tie, vest, white dress shirt and black pants included. The lapels and the edges of the tailored black jacket were embroidered with silver thread, the edging's design made to resemble a toreador's traditional outfit of traje de luces, or the 'suit of lights', where it is worn in the bullring. The black vest that lay under the jacket was of an embroidered design. The dress shirt underneath was plain and simple as so to not overdo the whole ensemble, as was the black tie that finished the job. Straight black pants and dress shoes finished the number.

For the other men, it was made mandatory that they wear a modern black suit with a choice of tie or bow tie and its colors. The shirt was to be of traditional white, and nothing else. For the women, any color or style of choice was approved, but the theme for those required to participate in the ceremony was either a pastel cream or green.

Rip's anxiousness already permeated the air; Miguel didn't have to cloud it up any more than Rip did. But he couldn't help thinking if things could go wrong. Although it was called a blessing for the wedding day to have rain-or at least a drizzle-it still worried the groom that it wouldn't stop if it did. He couldn't help thinking if her mother would show up, just as Marlene's did two years ago, and crash the ceremony. What if the caterers weren't there, of if she tripped on her long, floor-length gown? The anxiety made him fidget more than he had to, and slowly started pacing.

The best man that stood right there eyed the worried groom. "What are you worried about?"

"I'm worried about a lot of things right now," Miguel growled in frustration.

"Hey man, you don't have to be worried; everything'll be fine," Rip reassured him. When he didn't stop, Rip gripped his friend's upper arms tightly to stop the pacing, and glared sternly into his friend's green eyes. "Will you stop pacing!" he snarled.

"How can I help it?" Miguel said helplessly, his eyes almost tired.

Rip almost felt sorry for his friend, but he pat his friends shoulder encouragingly. "You'll make it through," he reassured the groom. "You'll make it."

Miguel nodded slowly, sighing. At the bachelor party, Francesco and Lightning claimed they, too, had the jitters like a teenager taking a big test. "It's natural," the older racers said.

He called Carla out to borrow a small mirror so he can check if his hair had become undone. Not a hair out of place. Good. He wanted everything to be perfect.

"Nice choice on the bridesmaids," Rip commented, voice low, as he pulled away from Carla, his pale green eyes glazed a little and a tissue to his lips.

Miguel stared at his friend like he grew a third eye for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Sure, sure," he said, and fixed his jacket again.

"Get into position!" Rip hissed, pushing his friend to the center hastily. Miguel grunted a little in pain and wondered angrily what Rip was trying to do, but one glance to the end of the aisle reminded him of whatever they were waiting for was there. Almost in an instant, he straightened himself as he joined his parents to receive the girl at the end of the aisle, the piano playing a loving, gentle medley.

He smiled a little at the cuteness of the flower girl and the coin bearer, portrayed by little Gianfranco S. Bernoulli and his older brother's little girl, Adalina G. Camino, respectively. He remembered for a moment that the _las arras_ tradition was both Filipino and Spanish; how fitting. The promise to provide for his new family would stand for years to come.

His eyes moved on, and gazed at the two older people that flanked her: Marlene and Francesco themselves. Since her mother was nowhere to be found, Philippines or otherwise, and that her father had passed on, it was only right to have the only older couple that was closest to the bride: her married cousin. And then, his eyes rested on his bride.

Her usual all-black outfit with his signature jacket looked commonplace and hardwearing for work. The dress and shrug she wore nine months ago were pretty and fragile. But today, in her white and black wedding dress, she was immaculate, like an angel sent from heaven.

Her hair was tied half-up. The loose tresses were turned to curls instead of made wavy as her hair naturally fell. The curls fell a little along her shoulders, and the rest of them behind her. Her long side bangs were tied back, too. On her head was an intricate crown of glistening silver, white in her dark hair. Her make-up was more pink than anything else, especially her eyeshadow, accentuating the tan skin she had inherited from her mother, as well as the brown eyes that glanced around shyly. Her lipstick was a little more flush than the shade of her own lips, and was more of a pink color. Her dress, oh, her dress was simple yet intricate.

Her top was of a simple, slightly-sweetheart neckline, the cloth, a lightweight charmeuse, woven over-under. Around her neck was a simple chain of white pearls. Her veil didn't cover her eyes, but was instead pinned to the back of her head to her hair, where the sheer fell like a waterfall. The silhouette or skirt was a-line, the overlay being lace, just like the veil, starting from her midriff. Only this time, the overlay was black, as so to honor the Spanish tradition of wearing black, instead of white, to the ceremony. The lace edging was not floral, but rather of a traditional pattern suggested by his mother. The bouquet in her hand was of orange blossoms, and he smiled.

To her, on the other hand, the man standing in black and silver and white never looked as handsome as he did now.

For some reason, she liked his hair like that, combed well and laid flat, unlike in the races, wherein his hair would either be windblown or combed back with his fingers. She also liked him better this way, where he looked proper and sort of presentable(not that he didn't look like that in the races, of course). She thought maybe it was just because it was a special occasion, but he looked better than their dinner six months ago. At any rate, he still was handsome in anything, just better in something other than his racing apparel.

His chest seemed to swell in love and joy as she made the final steps to the altar, and he, along with his parents, moved forward to meet her. Margo moved forward to greet his parents, and Miguel did so with the representatives. The parents then bid them good-by and good-luck, moving to the pews to take their places. He gently laced his fingers through hers, staring into her immensely beautiful brown eyes. She smiled, tightening her hand over his, and he led her to where the priest was waiting.

"I, Miguel Rodrigo Camino, take you, Margarita Kallide-Stevenson, to be my friend, my lover, the mother of my children and my wife. I will be yours in times of plenty and times of want, in times of sickness and in times of health, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, I'm times of failure and in times of triumph. I promise to cherish and respect you, to care and to protect you, to comfort and to encourage you, and stay with you, for all eternity." He slipped the golden ring onto her left-hand finger, and smiled at her as he waited for her to speak.

"I, Margarita Kallide-Stevenson, take you, Miguel Rodrigo Camino, to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward, for as long as we both shall live." She, in turn, slipped his golden ring onto his right-hand finger, and she, too, smiled into his green eyes.

"You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord, in His goodness, strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings. That God has joined, men must not divide. Amen.

"I hereby declare you husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The priest closed the book and smiled at the couple before glancing to the person to his left. "You may kiss the bride."

It was awkward because she was about an arm's length away, but nonetheless he pulled her hands closer to him slightly, and they met halfway, taking the first kiss in their new life. The audience clapped like crazy, some cheering, some crying.

After all the pictures had been taken, the two walked, arm in arm, down the carpeted aisle of the chapel and out to the blissful outdoors, where rice confetti rained on them. This was another tradition that was suggested and taken to heart; it was said to bring prosperity to the newlyweds. And then, they were off towards the reception.


	3. Chapter 3

_I hadn't realized I didn't put in a time for the wedding. xD I'll fix that up._

_This is more filler than part of the plot, only because you guys know how much I like enjoying the scenery! xD_

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**_Chapter Three_**

The reception was usually held in the evening, where everyone could party until the wee hours of the morning. For Americans and Filipinos alike, the case was in the morning or noontime, and would end in the afternoon. But the agreed time was in the evening, only because it took so long for the preparations to be made. Nonetheless, the sunset at the end of the ceremony was amazing.

The two were ahead of the rest of their family and friends, as was customary to greet and introduce friends and family to each other. Normally, it would feel awesome to have your parents meet your new spouse, but tonight, it was nerve-wracking, because the Caminos weren't exactly comfortable with his decision.

"_Mamá, Papá,_" Miguel greeted quite stiffly as his parents arrived. "You've met Margo." Both the smiles of the newlyweds have faded.

Señora Camino only looked at her son with narrowed eyes, then to her new daughter-in-law. All Margo can do is keep up a a small smile, her teeth hidden from view. Miguel tightened his grip on her. It was a tense moment.

His father spoke first. "_Hijo,_" he started in a relatively gruff voice, "I've seen my fill of women." The father had a frown on his face, and stared at his son like he was scrutinizing him. "I've seen flirty ones and shy ones. I've seen rich and poor, or snobby and humble. I've seen weird and normal, and I've seen those with interests that would either freak me out or otherwise." The tension built, and Margo was sure she would freak, too. "You said her name meant 'pearl', am I correct?"

Miguel nodded, and the man's gaze turned to his daughter-in-law's. Margo wanted to shy away, just like she did from her own father. She thought his parents would give them a fierce rebuke. Margo had only met them just once, telling them about herself for roughly four straight hours at their humble abode, and they were very doubtful about their son's decision, especially his mother. She overheard them arguing as a family should, comparing her to Miguel's older brother's wife, who showed traditional female softness and grace, where they thought Margo has never been like that in her life. It caused a rift, but Miguel was very defiant about his parents' judgements, and nonetheless asked her to stay with him no matter what they said. As this rift had been formed, the parents hadn't been shown some of the details in the wedding plans, such as the dress, flowers, decorations in the party, the cake, and more, although they were shown the places where the reception and the ceremony will be held, the guest list, etc. And tonight was the moment of truth.

Señor Camino stared at her for a few moments more, his arms crossed over his chest, until he spoke. "Considering what you have told us," he started slowly, softly, "I think she is the perfect girl for you, Miguel." He smiled, and hugged his daughter-in-law tightly. As he released her, his son wondered why.

"Well, you told me she was a great lover in may ways, and she can fix your car better than your team can," he started, the smile never leaving his face. "I'm sure she will be a great mother to my grandchildren." He stared into Margo's smiling face, then looked to his own wife. "What do you think, Sofía?"

The older woman looked at her son, then to her husband, then to the girl in white and black, eyes narrowed. She was still at an indecision, but with two men on the other side, it only strengthened her opposition to her son's decision.

"Estéban, this girl is contrary to the girl we had in mind for Miguel!" she exclaimed. "Surely you jest that this is the perfect girl for him?"

"What exactly is the girl we had in mind?" Señor Estéban prompted.

"She had to be beautiful and graceful, just as your parents have accepted me, and she also had to be Spanish! Not this, this…excuse for a woman!"

A pang hit Margo in the chest, and her vision blurred. Miguel was infuriated by his mother's harsh words. Señor Estéban was merely unamused.

"Sofía, we have agreed also that the girl would provide him the utmost love and a beautiful family," the father said. "This girl can provide our son with more than just that. What say you?" he finished, then glanced at his son's wife. "She is the most perfect specimen of a girl. Imagine her doing you more service than…." He cleared his throat, making his son grin, before he turned to his son again. "Congratulations on your wedding, _hijo_; it is perfect." He then turned to kiss Margo on both cheeks, and walked away to join the party. "Sofía, _¿viene?_" he called out over his shoulder.

The two stared at the older woman, who sighed, then too her son's hands in hers. "I guess your father is right; maybe she is better than we imagined." She sighed again, and took her daughter-in-law's hands. "I am sorry for this,_ hija,_" she apologized.

"_Eso es fino, mamá,_" Margo replied, smiling. "Some people are like that."

Señora Sofía smiled, and hugged her new daughter before following Señor Estéban.

"And I thought they would flay me," she breathed in relief. He gave a laugh and pressed his lips to her hair.

After the friends and family have been welcomed, met and settled into their seats, dinner had started. The buffet table consisted of many traditional and customary Hispanic dishes and modern favorites of the couple alike. Part of Spanish tradition was to hand out party favors, and probably the most opportune time was while the rest of the people were eating. Cigars for the men, pins for the women. It was announced later on that those floral pins, worn upside down, were said to be an omen if it fell while dancing; should it fall from the clothing, it would mean that that lady would likely be married soon! As dinner, too, had finished, it was time for the rest of the events, almost planned as a makeshift revenge by her own cousin, although it was also consented by the couple.

"To the new Mr. and Mrs. Camino," a voice called over the speakers, and everyone turned to the microphone to see the best man holding a glass of champagne, a wide smile on his face. "That they may live happily ever after." Clinks of glasses were then heard. "I now invite my two closest friends to taste the cake."

The cake was brought out in spectacular fashion. The three-tier, pastel gold, reddish pink, and white cake, adorned with flowers and ribbons, was elegant and intricately designed. The topper consisted of two white doves weaving the colors of the flowers together, using colored ribbons, the ends in their beaks. Both birds seemed to be weaving around each other in love more than weaving the ribbons together as a sign of their unity. And for a more symbolic design, the birds were wearing exactly what the newlyweds wore, the bride's tail flowing as a wedding dress should, the groom's wings edged in silver!

The two gripped the cutter together, and cameras flashed and rolled in vain to document this moment, and as both tried to down the slices. Everyone had a slice of their own to either take home or to eat as the reception flowed through to the games.

Of course, only two would stand out in most of the crowd, and that was about the garter and the bouquet. The floral bunch soared through the air, this time landing in Mia's arms. And after Miguel had reappeared from under Margo's silhouette with a new piece of clothing in his teeth, a guest had caught it clean in his fingers, and sided by a shy Mia. Turns out the man was Mia's own boyfriend. Both catches were an omen that they were next.

Some partied until late that evening. Some went home prior to the final events. And as the party ended and the bills were paid, the newlyweds returned to his home to rest before heading off to their honeymoon.

It was a beautiful half moon as it filtered through the sheer curtains that flanked the balcony doors' hinges. She was half-leaning on the smooth, concrete railing about ten feet away from the archway in a shirt and shorts, her hands clasped together. Oddly enough, she was nervous about tonight; surely something will happen?

She then felt his arms slide around her waist, and she straightened, pressing against him slightly, her arms over his and goosebumps popping up on her skin as she felt his warm breath on her neck. She turned in his arms, her lips to his fiercely in a flurry of need and love. His were as tight, as was his grip around her. Her arms encircled his neck, fingers tight in his long hair.

Only one murmur from her sent his mind and body to hyperdrive.

"_Te amo._"

* * *

_Lisatjuh was right: block isn't funny. B/_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

A few months into married life, the two have already settled in nicely in their new home, also located in Pamplona. Races have come and go, gossip has escalated, and love has never been hotter and readily available. Today, they were easy and relaxed at home.

"Miguel," she called from upstairs, and he rushed to the second floor. "I thought I told you no eating in the room?"

Unfortunately for Margo, a 50" flatscreen TV had been installed with cable, and Miguel had put it to very good use, buying a Blu-Ray DVD player and movies. And this entailed eating in the room and on the bed, too.

He sighed and snatched the bag of chips from her hands. "Mine," he murmured, a little irritated.

She sighed, too, almost exasperated. "Love, come on," she said. "You know as well as I do that ants will get in there and we'll then have to call the exterminators."

"But why won't you let me eat and watch?" he asked, turning around to face her.

"You can buy yourself a new TV and put it in the living room," she suggested.

"But we already have a TV," he put in.

She folded her arms over her chest. "Well, then make a decision. Eat or watch," she said finally, and went back to fixing the master's bedroom.

After throwing out the plastic bag he moved to help her fix the messed-up room and helping her with the bed. But as they started folding the large quilt though, she dashed away to the bathroom, and he heard her retch. Worriedly he dashed inside to find her crouched over the bowl, and fought to keep his lunch down as he stood by to hold up her hair.

"I didn't account for this," she growled as more food started coming up until all that was left was bile.

"Are you sick?" he asked her as she washed her face.

"No." She spat the foam in her mouth and rinsed the brush in her hand. "I don't even feel weird, and I know when I do." She wiped her face with a towel before having him trail after her back into the room.

He was still worried about her though. He had as much right to as her own mother.

As they started settling in for the night, he found her counting from a mark in her planner, her brows knit together in deep thought.

He slid his arms around her waist before kissing her cheek lightly. "The race isn't until next week, _amor_," he murmured as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Why count the days?"

She closed the book quietly, still in her thoughtful trance. "Maybe it's nothing," she murmured.

"What is?" he said, swaying them both slightly. It had been a long day, and he was so looking forward to tonight.

"Nothing," she said, turning in his arms and pressing her face to his, hands in his hair, as they twirled towards the large bed.

"Margo, what's wrong?" he asked her as they settled under the covers.

"Nothing's wrong," she reassured him, rubbing her cheek over his shirt happily, senses partially intoxicated. "I don't want you to worry any more than I have to be." She pressed her lips to the spot right over his heart lightly before gazing into his green eyes lovingly.

He just stared at her with alarm in his eyes, scrutinizing her. She was too soft for her own good, always wanting the best for him. And with a race coming up, worry should be the last thing on his mind. He sighed, smiling slightly before coming his fingers through her wet, loose hair. She returned the smile with hers before love closed over them.

The days passed. Vomiting was becoming more and more frequent in some days. Miguel insisted she go to a doctor, but she was too stubborn to follow. Other weird things were starting to happen, like her coming and going at night when all he wanted was for her to stay in his arms until the dawning light, then sleeping in the day. Sometimes she wouldn't be in the mood to have eggs for breakfast or so. But to his surprise, she had even turned her nose up at her morning serving of coffee! Things were getting serious, but she claimed she was as normal as she could be.

And then, the day of the race had arrived. He was to start in fifth position, which was more or less great. His team stood by in the pits, awaiting the go signal to be given by officials.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Miguel called through the radio.

"I'm fine, Miguel," she reassured him. "Now just go and win this for us."

Three, two, one, green, and they were off to a screeching start, leaving the grid in less than five seconds. As usual, the team were to wait for orders from Petro Cartalina, the crew chief. Margo just sat by, watching the race from there, listening to Petro call into the radio as he led Miguel through the track.

For some sort of safety precaution that she couldn't name, she had an opaque plastic bag in her pocket.

Also, as always, there would be a technical problem in the engine. Miguel makes an unplanned pit stop, and it was time for the better female to get to work.

"What's wrong?" she called as she popped the hood with gloved hands.

"Keeps stalling, as usual," he said, and she went to check the cylinders.

Someone had tinkered with the oil flow, and now the pistons won't move. Nonetheless it might have been a ruptured line, and called for a spare line.

But before she can even install the tube she grabs the plastic peeking out of her pocket and retches into it.

"No, not again," Miguel calls, and the crew rushes to the girl that has bent over the plastic, her lunch being thrown out of her system. As she straightened, someone took hold of the bag for her, and without a moment to lose she bent over the engine to finish what she had started, stomach still tight.

"Promise me you'll go to a doctor after you fix the engine," he pleaded.

She only nodded as she coughed, and shut the cover. With that he raced away.

They had finished in eighth place, and that put their team one place lower than the last, fifth place in the scoreboard. But he wasn't worried about that now; all he could think of was Margo and what was wrong with her for the past few weeks.

She had been escorted to the nearest hospital, where she was given a full medical examination. By the time he had arrived she still wasn't done yet, and Petro Cartalina was certain she had gone about an hour and a half before. Both men waited for the doctor's verdict, and heard laughs of euphoria in the room. A female doctor's head popped out, smiling.

"Oh, _Señor_ Camino," she greeted, grinning. "Come on in; they're waiting for you."

He was bewildered by the fact that the doctor was smiling—and who were 'they'?—and followed her inside the room. He wasn't aware what this room was-it could be surgery for all he knew-and found Margo in a bed, blue blanket stretched up to her ribs. She was smiling widely, like she was when they drove fast in his Maserati GranCabrio with its top down, and laughing with her eyes closed as her head rested on the pillow. He couldn't see her pants anywhere, but her shoes were right there beside the bed.

Beside her was a monitor and several other instruments. He wondered what they were for, but didn't get to as as he went to take her hand in his tightly.

"What happened?" he asked, tone laced with alarm. "Why are you in a hospital bed? What's all this for?" He gestured to the monitors beside her.

"Should I tell him or should you?" the woman in a lab coat asked her.

"I think we should show him." She grinned. "He doesn't usually believe his ears sometimes, so it's best to make him see."

She gripped his hand slightly, and she looked to the monitor beside her. He wondered for a moment why she was ecstatic until his eyes glanced at the TV-like screen.

Lines of white and shadows of gray made a moving picture. Guide lines like you see in tables were on the left and bottom of it. Other statistical data was placed elsewhere. She was right; he wouldn't believe it if she'd just told him. She glanced at him again to find his lips parted in disbelief. He glanced down at her, and she nodded with glittering eyes.

He laughed once, which led to more as they watched the lifelike movie before their eyes, his hand tight on hers, tears of joy streaming down his cheeks.

He was going to be a father.


	5. Chapter 5

_Alright, this chapter features something about MissCarrera again, with her character Vivian Jane Carrera-McQueen being involved in the lower half of this chapter. ^-^ The girl is first seen in Family Tidings by MissCarrera. :) I do NOT own Vivian, but I do have the permission of use._

_I might be rambling again. O.o_

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

She woke to an odd feeling, and sat up, eyes wide. She was sure something had happened, until it happened again. She winced, her hands to the point where the pain came from. It was to her belly.

"Miguel," she murmured, hand flying to his wrist. He didn't move. "Miguel," she called again, shaking him slightly.

"What?" he moaned groggily. "Go back to sleep." He turned to his side with a pillow in his arms.

"Miguel, it's happening," she said, voice still low, and another spasm caught her, and she gasped.

"It's another false alarm," he moaned again. "Go back to sleep."

In the last few weeks, she had claimed in the middle of the night that she had gone to labor already, only to find it a false alarm. It wasn't funny the first few times, and they had argued for a few days because Miguel thought she was joking him. Nonetheless, with a doctor's consultation he was convinced, and everything was right again. But still, he didn't believe an inch of it tonight.

"Miguel, I'm serious," she said, and fought back a moan.

He gave a loud 'ugh' as he pulled himself to a sitting position, eyes still closed and hair standing in tufts. "Can't I get an inch of sleep these days?" he groaned, glaring at her through narrowed eyes.

Irritation filled her instantly. "Don't you think that I haven't been up, waiting for the moment when she will-" She was cut off by another spasm of pain, and gasped audibly, gritting her teeth.

This seemed to snap the expectant father awake. "Are you sure?"

She glared at him. "They were never this strong," she hissed.

He jumped out of bed, switched the lights, and searched for his wallet and his keys. "Let's go," he snarled flatly, helping her out of the bed and later, into the car.

At least the garage door was fast enough to move. In the faster 458 they sped to the nearest hospital not ten minutes from the home. She was brought to the ER, where she was confirmed to have gone into labor, and was then sent quickly to another room. Outside, he waited in his shorts and slippers. He was stupid enough to leave his phone, full of their songs when he needed to listen and calm himself, or to play games when he was bored or tense. And right now was when he needed it.

Soon enough he grew tired. It was the middle of the night, after all. So, he fell asleep on the seats there.

Someone shook him awake. He stretched, yawning, before he glared at the person in front of him. At the sight of the doctor he realized and remembered why he was here. He stood, suddenly alive.

"Congratulations, _señor,_" the doctor smiled. "It's a baby girl."

He heaved a sigh of relief, and couldn't hold back the wide smile that popped onto his face.

"Would you like to see her now?" the doctor asked, and as he nodded, she led him into the room to find Margo in a hospital bed once more with a polka-dot gown and IV's to her hand.

She smiled as her gaze rested on his, and he rushed to her side in no time, taking her free hand in his.

"_How are you?_" he asked unconsciously in his foreign tongue.

"_I'll be fine,_" she replied softly as she gazed into his green eyes.

"_Where is she?_" he asked.

"Here," the nurse called gently, holding a white bundle in her arms. Within moments, the little girl was in her mother's arms, and the three were left alone.

"She's beautiful," he murmured, smiling into his new daughter's face.

"What do we call her?" she whispered, touching her fingertip lightly to the baby's sensitive skin.

"Ercilia," he breathed, and she looked to him for the meaning. "I looked it up," he said, "and it means 'delicate, tender'." He touched the girl's face lightly. "And it's the perfect description for our daughter."

She smiled, gazing into her daughter's face. "Ercilia," she crooned. "My baby Ercilia."

"…the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." With that, the baptismal closes, and everyone disperses to head for the party.

"Maria Ercilia Stevenson-Camino is a beautiful name," the closes godmother commented.

"Thanks, cousin," she said, nosing her daughter's nose lightly.

"M-hm," Francesco says, his own son in tow, a glass of champagne in his other hand.

"Papa," he calls, "who's that?"

Francesco laughs slightly. "That's your new cousin," he says, and his cousin-in-law lowers herself for the second cousins to meet.

Little Gianfranco was amazed by his newest cousin, and smiles at her. "What's her name?" he asks.

"Ercilia," Margo tells her cousin's son. Just then, a little girl skips to Franco's side, followed by a call of her name.

"Vivian," her mother calls, "I thought I told you not to run off like that."

"But I wanna play with Franco," Vivian whined as Sally Carrera-McQueen sided by her daughter, her husband coming in a little later.

"Nice," Lightning murmured as he pat his friend's back. Miguel grinned as Francesco toasted to that, also smiling.

"Hey guys," a familiar voice called, and everyone looked to a man dressed in a sports shirt.

"Hi Rip," Margo called, and she stood to greet him fully, kissing his cheek in greeting.

"Congratulations," he grinned at her.

Margo turned her head to see Carla not far away. "How is she?" she asked gently.

Almost everyone knew Carla was at least four months in, and had to retire from racing. It was a hard blow to the female racer, but it was inevitable; the dangers were extreme if she were to get behind the wheel of her beloved Porsche, pregnant. "She'll be fine," Rip murmured. "It was hard, you know."

"Is she still mad at you?" Miguel asked his friend, and the two turned to their also-worried friends.

"Sort of." Carla had been upset when Rip admitted that he was on their side and not hers.

"She'll come around," Margo murmured, bumping her hip to his. "Right now, why don't you enjoy the party?"

He grinned. She always was one to look out for him. "I still have friends to greet," he said, and crooned at his new goddaughter. "She's beautiful," he murmured, smiling as Ercilia's little hand took his finger. "Well, she should be; after all, look who her parents are!" he said, raising his voice, and the rest of the invited gang laughed. Margo rolled her eyes at him.

More relatives and guests approached them then, the parents talking with relatives and other parents. Not exactly to their surprise, Ercilia had won over her grandparents. As her little baby spent some time with her own father, Margo thought it would be nice to allot some time with and for Franco and his friend, Vivian. It's been a few years since she last saw her nephew, or at least, that's what she thinks is her relation to him.

The party continued on for a few more hours, until it was time to go home. At least they brought their SUV, because surely the gifts wouldn't fit into either of the other cars. And at long last, they had returned home. Ercilia was then left in the baby room; she was exhausted by all the festivities. With the help of other family members and friends who wanted to see the exclusive Camino home, they set aside the gifts in a room for opening the next day. A few bottles of wine and champagne were opened, and settled around the living room couches.

"Not much bigger than ours," Marlene murmured as she looked around, surveying the high ceiling that hovered above her head, the small chandelier that hung in the center.

"It's actually smaller, cousin," Margo said. "It doesn't feature the ballroom, that's for sure."

Compared to the palace at Porto Corsa, the home in the countryside of Pamplona did not have the Bernoulli's large ballroom that one can view as they enter the front door, or the grand, two-way staircase directly across that. The staircase that led to the second floor at the Camino's was still as intricate but smaller and was single. The entire house in the sense of size was more of a downsized version of the Bernoulli's, but interior decor-wise, it held a humbler air than the grand cream walls and marble floors lined with shimmering gold held at Porto Corsa. It was large enough to hold a house party, and was perfect for even a small family of three or so.

"Yes, it doesn't," Rip laughed as he took a swig of wine. "It's much better this way. I feel normal here than a king at Porto Corsa."

"Maybe because Francesco is," Carla put in as she settled by her husband.

"Either way, that's what they want," Margo chided slightly, making sure it was veiled, and plopped herself beside Miguel. "I can't believe how exhausting this kind of thing is," she gasped as she snuggled against his side, and he pressed his lips to her hair.

"It'll get easier," Francesco said for the first time.

"What, the parties or the parenthood?" she shot back smilingly.

Her cousin's husband laughed. "Both, I suppose," he called as he took a sip of champagne.

Margo reached out for a glass and was biased between champagne and wine. "Which one?" she grumbled, brows furrowed, then went with the sparkling liquid, settling back with a half-full glass.

"Mama, I want a sip," Franco pleaded.

"No, this isn't for you, honey," she replied. "And besides, you won't like it."

"_Per favore, Mama,_" he pleaded again in his foreign tongue.

Marlene rolled her eyes as everyone laughed lightly as they watched. "Alright," she said, handing her glass of champagne to him. Carefully he sipped through the delicate glass, and smacked his lips, them smiled.

"How does it taste?" she prompted.

"Tastes yummy," he replied, and everyone else burst in laughter as his mother sighed in defeat, and let him reach for her glass.

"No," Francesco said sternly, blocking his reach for the glassware. "You're not supposed to be drinking this."

"But _Papa-_"

"No," his father said again, this time with a harder tone and a glare at his son. Franco then slumped beside Vivian, who was fiddling with her golden brown braid.

"The key," Francesco started for his friends, "is to be forceful. She's you're daughter, and you're the parent. What you say goes." He took a sip of his drink again. "Especially for the fathers." He pat Franco's back slightly, and as his son turned to him, Francesco smiled, and Franco scrambled to hug his big daddy. "But nonetheless, make sure she knows it's for her own good, and that it wouldn't drive you both apart."

Miguel, Rip and Lightning nodded. "How'd you know the last part?" Rip asked, frowning slightly.

"Margo once told us she was much closer to her mother back in her childhood years. She was afraid of her father for years." Everyone looked to the new mother, and she smiled slightly, turning back to her glass. "So I said, why should I let Franco think that I hate him because I punish him so much? It's not fair in both parts, because Margo recounted she never really knew her dad until her teens."

Almost everyone stared at her. "Seriously?" Carla said.

Margo nodded sadly. "But I loved my dad before he went," she murmured sadly. "And I don't want the same thing to happen to Ercilia, or to Franco or Vivian." She shivered slightly. "It's not a very happy memory."

Miguel rubbed her arm gently with his hand, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as grief washed over her, showing in the few tears that fell. Marlene, too, started remembering her own father, and heaved a sigh. Everyone fell in silence as a moment of mourning passed through them.

"A toast then," Rip called, "to our new lives." He stood, raising his glass. "That we may be able to learn as much as we need, past, present or future."

"To new life," Marlene called out.

"To new life," Margo agreed, and as everyone raised and sipped from glass of wine or champagne, everyone, even her, felt hope for the future. For her daughter's future.


End file.
